Shifting Perspectives
by Lerafea
Summary: HIATUS AU Slash The death of his godfather has caused a shift in Harry’s perspective. Resolving to rectify his less than stellar OWL grades, he retakes the exams, only to have an imploding potion send him 20 years into the past.
1. Prologue

Summary: AU Slash. 6th year. The death of his godfather has caused a shift in Harry's perspective. Resolving to rectify his less than stellar OWL grades, he retakes the exams, only to have an imploding potion send him 20 years into the past. IndependentGrey!Harry.

Warning(s): AU, non-OotP/HBP compliant. **Slash **(which will not be the main focus of the story). Details of the Harry Potter series not followed to the 'T'. Un-beta-ed. The author apologizes beforehand for any mistakes incurred.

Disclaimer: This is fan fiction.

A Time of Change

1. Prologue

Beads of perspiration peeked out from under his hairline, rolling down pale skin before dripping to the floor. Harry Potter paid this no mind, attention fixed solely on the cauldron before him. He stirred carefully, precise strokes steady as he counted them softly under his breath.

Then lips parted and cheeks dimpled as he broke out in a broad smile, his hand ceasing motion the instant the potion turned from a dull red to a deep maroon. Drawing the ladle out of the liquid, the fifth year extinguished the fire with a sharp cutting motion of his wand.

"Well done, Mr. Potter."

Grinning up at the Ministry examiner, Harry quietly thanked the lanky-haired blond for his murmured compliment before decanting the blood-replenishing potion into a large vial. A hint of colour had returned to his pallid complexion as the Boy-Who-Lived patted himself on the back for a job well done.

There was still a hint of a pleased smile on his lips as he handed the bottled potion over, getting rid of the remaining potion with a short _evanensco_. Swiftly packing, the emerald-eyed youth endeavored to remain as quiet as he could in consideration to the students still hunched over their steaming cauldrons. He made sure that his shrunken trunk was safely in his pocket before easing himself away from the bench and heading towards the door.

This particular summer had been rather unusual for him, uninteresting as it had been thus far. His relatives had refused to have anything to do with him, leaving him very much to his own devices. Not that he had complained, of course. Instead, he had spent the first couple of days moping and brooding, succumbing to the grief of the loss of a godfather he never really knew with tears and a deep-seated anger he had no desire or way to diffuse.

His emotions and thoughts had been a whirl of uncertainty and confusion. He had felt unsettled, restless and aimless and it had frustrated him to the point that had him pulling at his unkempt hair. He sought for an elusive peace of mind he did not know how to attain. He reached for the composure he had never had before. He thought of friends whom he trusted but whom he felt could not comprehend him or his situation.

He loathed his self-pity, his immaturity, his mourning and above all, the weakness he had displayed.

Thus, the teenager threw himself into his schoolwork with uncanny determination and desperation. It was, he knew subconsciously, a bid to rid his mind of stray thoughts of Cedric and Sirius. To a certain degree, the distraction had worked as the dark-haired wizard inhaled information and knowledge he should have garnered in his previous years of magical education.

With his emotions forcefully tucked away, the youth had tried his best to master what little he knew of the art of Occlumency. The progress he made was unremarkable for he simply knew too little on the subject. That it dredged up unwelcome memories of Sirius and the damnable Snape did not help matters in the least. It was, however, enough to give him nights of undisturbed sleep.

He remembered the way his heart had plummeted to his stomach when the ministry owl had handed him his OWL scores. Staring in silent disappointment at the printed 'E' beside 'Potions', the young savior could only shake his head in bitter resignation at the loss of his career prospects in the MLE. Until a footnote, small as it was, gave him a burst of hope.

'_Candidates wishing to retake the Ordinary Wizarding Levels should reply post-haste, indicating their choice of the August or December examinations as well as subject combination. Examination fees are 5 galleons per subject. Registration closes 20__th__ of July.'' _

And so there he was, an uncharacteristically quiet youth of 16 with a haunting pain that lurked within eyes hidden behind wire frames. School robes hid ragged hand-me-downs and a lithe frame that was toned by Quidditch and housework, giving him an unhealthy, underfed look about him despite the dignified aura he had ensconced himself in.

He had taken no more than five steps away from his laboratory bench when the cauldron beside him started to bubble furiously, its dark red liquid reminding Harry of a volcano. No sooner had the thought entered his head did the bespectacled youth regret it, watching with horror and widened eyes as the potion did indeed explode in seeming imitation of a miniature volcano.

His lips curled in unconscious disgust as the failed potion covered him in a thick, generous coating that tightened and dried upon immediate contact of skin and robes.

"Oh dear," the examiner murmured, expression frozen in that of a rabbit whose pending doom loomed directly above him. His wand clattered to the floor, the cleansing charm that had been at his lips stolen by the cold draft in the now-silent laboratory.

With a muted 'pop' and a flash of smoke, The Boy-Who-Lived had disappeared from sight.


	2. Chapter 1

Author's request: Would anyone be so kind as to offer their beta services to me?

Disclaimer: This remains fan fiction.

A Time of Change  
Chapter 1  
_28__th__ July 1975_

He was falling.

Falling.

_Falling._

"Ow."

He had landed.

A quiet chuckle sounded, amplified by the terrible acoustics of the small room and at what Harry grumpily suspected to be at his expense.

Almost reluctantly, the Boy-Who-Lived opened his eyes, vision giving rise to a view of the dusty ceiling from where he lay inelegantly sprawled on the floor. Muttering an oath, he attempted to sit up from where he had fallen. An attempt duly thwarted by the solidified potion which had stuck one arm to his side and the other to his waist.

A shadow fell over him and he looked up, emerald gaze meeting dark irises which were lit with what could only be described as mirth. Resisting the urge to duck his head, Harry made up for the embarrassed flushed that stained his cheeks with the upward arch of his eyebrows.

"_Scourgify_."

Instantly, the feeling of being strangled within the chokehold of a potion with murderous intent disappeared. A hand was thrust into his line of vision and the dark-haired youth accepted it gratefully, murmuring his thanks as he stood.

"You're most welcome."

If emotions could be read solely through one's tone, Harry was sure that the stranger's would spell out Amused with a capital 'A'.

"Edwin Saint," came the offered introduction accompanied by a light shake of the hand still caught in a firm, too warm grip.

"Harry Potter."

His companion did not reply, choosing instead to brush at his robes as Harry did the same, covertly sizing him up from beneath lowered lashes. The youth, he assumed, was his age but stood almost a head taller than him. Dirty blonde hair streaked generously with black was pulled back in a stub of a ponytail, with shorter strands framing a pair of eyes that were the darkest shade of blue Harry had ever seen. He had a lean physique and a confident posture that lent to the overall picture of muted wealth alongside well-fitted (stained) robes.

_Spoilt brat._

Frowning as he noticed dark eyes raking over his own body, he snapped out a second cleansing charm that did away with most of the remaining stains on his school robes, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling that tickled his senses.

"Where are we?" Harry finally ventured, digging his heels into what he found to be a cushioned floor. There was no door in sight, merely shelves of odd-looking objects and air vents around the perimeter of the ceiling.

Saint glanced around before shrugging, slim shoulders mapping out a motion of cheerful indifference. "Portkey room. Someone should be by soon to get us out." The teen was grinning again and Harry found that he could not dredge up enough energy to be annoyed at the boy's amazingly happy attitude, settling for a bland stare instead. He was, he noted inwardly and quite needlessly, in a decidedly bad mood.

"_Tempus."_

Silence.

"_Tempus."_

Saint had re-cast the spell with his own wand, but the fact that the figures remained the same did not escape both boys.

13:26  
28 07 1975

Unsure, Harry glanced at the other teenager, exhaling in disbelief that was mirrored in Saint's expression.

This was not good.

"Ah, gentlemen. There you are." Visibly jumping at the interruption, both boys spun around to find that a door had both appeared and opened and a grizzled head of peppered hair had stuck itself into the room with eyes that peered intently at them through thick reading glasses. "Come along, before you're late for your testing. Don't want that to happen now, do we?"

Swinging the door open with a motioning hand, the wizard waved them forward and Harry did as he was told. There was a sinking feeling inside him that told him that something was very, very wrong. He glanced at his companion out the corner of his eye, noting his unnaturally pale complexion and the bottom lip caught between his teeth. He could almost _hear_ the cogs turning inside Saint's head.

No, not good at all.

And to think, the school term had not even started.

* * *

Shadowed eyes eyed the hourglass in front of the examination hall even as fingers reached up to brush aside his fringe. Edwin Saint sighed, turning a weary gaze back to his finished essay, quill held loosely in his left hand. Charms had always been his favourite subject hands down, because he never had to study as hard for it as he had to for Herbology or anything else for that matter.

They still had 20 minutes left before the scratching of quills against parchment was called to a halt and he had to resist the urge to tilt his head to the left in order to eye the wizarding world's teenaged saviour who continued to scratch away at the yellowed parchment.

He wondered about the potion which Callaghway, the damnable incompetent idiot, had somehow managed to ruin, cursing the pansy ass boy for his knack for screwing things up. All Saint had wanted to do was to finish his examinations, go back home to his uncles and enjoy what was left of his summer before his results came out and he was _finally _bundled off to Hogwarts or Durmstrang. Sure, he was happy at home with his family but being home-schooled was probably the most boring environment any child could possibly grow up in.

He also wondered about the Boy-Who-Lived, who seemed to have a disposition of a menopausing _cow, _with his scarred forehead perpetually lined and his mouth twisted with a scowl. His eyes were interesting, though. Mesmerizing killing-curse-green that looked as old as his Uncle Charles'. Interesting, but intimidating. Rather fitting for someone who was pre-determined to off You-Know-Who, he supposed.

But most of all, he wondered about how in Circe's name did the thrice cursed Lord Callaghway's heir manage to screw up a potion so badly that he managed to land Edwin 20 years in the past. With Harry "ohmygod" Potter, to boot.

Not that he had anything against the boy, of course.

His guardian was going to flip, though. Oh, yes siree.

After being unceremoniously dumped to the ground of the portkey room, disbelief had given way to stunned acceptance when both him and Potter had been ushered into the exam hall where everything was odd. The examination paper was dated quite clearly 'June 1975', the private candidates dressed the way his uncles did as a teenager (ugh) and last but not least, Lord Callaghway himself, the ugly old brute was seated just two seats before him and he would swear on his parents' tombs that he would recognize the old bugger even if he were turned to ash.

Disconcerting was an understatement. Hell, it made his head spin and his heart race like Krum's firebolt.

Saint had traded glances with Potter, taking what comfort he could in that he was not alone in this… accident. Neither had spoken up to voice their troubles, Saint because he did not want to create a scene until he knew precisely what on earth was going on. Potter, too, seemed content to let it go for the moment and had cut Edwin off with a terse "we'll talk _later,_" in between their Potions and Charms theory papers.

Heaving another heavy sigh, he looked to the left in time to catch said saviour's troubled glance before the examiner tapped his wand against the magnified hourglass.

"Time's up, ladies and gentlemen. Quills down."

* * *

Harry leaned against the wall outside the examination hall, frayed nerves wearing thinner by the second as he waited for Saint to exit. A suffocating feeling had settled on his chest and the more he thought about how unfair the fates were on him for dumping him once more in the hands of another disaster, the more frustration and pain he felt. It certainly did not help that his blonde-haired companion was taking his time to exit the hall.

An arm caught his and Harry reacted reflexively, wrenching away from the firm grip and bringing his wand up to poke his assaulter in between the eyes.

Edwin Saint eyed him down the length of his wand, his own digging fiercely into Harry's stomach.

"Touché," the blue-eyed youth smirked, pulling back his wand and pushing away Harry's. He inclined his head in a sharp nod, an apology for startling him present in his slightly guarded expression. Accepting it with an unsure nod of his own, the dark-haired wizard allowed Saint to lead him out of the building as a tense silence hung between them like a sheet hung out to dry.

He much preferred the smiling dolt from before.

Parents were waiting for their children in the reception alongside several butlers, maids and chauffeurs. Harry wondered briefly who would have waited for Saint if they were still in their own time. He knew he would have headed home alone, huddling in the night bus and praying that the driver did not run them into a river.

He greeted the open air with an appreciative lift of his lips, head upturned to the clear sky as wind teased the ends of his unruly mop of hair.

"So what now?" He asked, stepping out of the telephone booth to the Ministry of Magical Education branch, slipping a hand into his pocket to check for his shrunken trunk – he had not dared risk his belongings at the Dursley's when he left to take his examinations.

"I don't know," the blond admitted, frustration seeping into his expressive tone. Dark blue eyes bore worry that was written in Harry's own jade-hued eyes. Fingers tugged off the band keeping Saint's hair in place as the teen rolled his neck and shoulders in an attempt to loosen the muscles. "Let's just find dinner and a place to settle for the night. We have to come back here for Transfiguration and Defense tomorrow, after all. Okay?"

"With no money?"

"I have enough in muggle pounds to last the night, I think."

"… 'kay."

Tensing as Saint laid a hand on his shoulder in a reassuring squeeze, Harry could only offer a sheepish grin when his newfound acquaintance shot him an odd look.

"Thanks."

* * *

Casting a fairly amused glance in the direction of the blonde, Harry shook his head as he dropped his tired self down onto the bed. The arrogant little prick had firmly declined putting them up in a cheap wizarding inn, steering them towards a muggle hotel which offered cleaner rooms and better amenities instead.

And he _still _looked unhappy.

Dinner had proven to be satisfying, the platter of fish and chips still warm in his contented belly. The conversation, too, had been very enlightening and he found that Edwin Saint was an incredibly entertaining sarcastic spoilt brat with a tongue and wit as sharp as a blade.

In that one hour taken to consume their meal, with Saint making derogatory remarks about his eating habits, they had gone over every possible mistake that came to mind that the boy, Callaghway, had made to his potion. They had confirmed the fact that they were, indeed and in fact, 20 years into the past (as ridiculous as it sounded) and had lapsed into thoughtful silences, both boys lost within the whirlwind of their own thoughts.

Now, however, he merely tugged out his trunk, which had been shrunk by Remus and enlarged it with a finger to the latch.

Remus.

Fiercely shaking his head to rid himself of nostalgia, Harry merely sighed and flipped open his trunk, promptly falling back on his ass when a floating envelop rose up to hover above his trunk. 'Harry Potter', it read in green ink, the curved script looking as though it had been printed from a computer.

Tentatively reaching out, he plucked it from the air and flipped it around to examine it. It was a plain parchment-made envelope, save for his name written in front, but it was thick and heavy and he could just make out a solid object inside of it. The wax that held the envelope close was imprinted with an odd bow-like crest.

"Potter?"

Turning to look at his companion, he lifted the envelope for the blonde's inspection. "It was in my trunk," he explained, allowing Saint to take it from his grasp. An unreadable expression had crept up onto the teenager's fair features as he studied the wax seal.

"You should open it." Abruptly thrusting it back into Harry's face, he sat down on the bed and toed off his shoes, letting out a satisfied groan as he flung an arm over his eyes and settled in for a nap.

Raising his brows at the blatant dismissal, Harry eyed the envelope once more before carefully breaking the seal and drawing out the parchment. His eyebrows attempted to seek further refuge under his fringe when two golden keys fell out with it, landing on the carpeted floor with a small 'thump'. Gringotts, the bespectacled boy noted, fingering the metal pieces as he unfolded the letter.

_Harry, _

_The following requires certain suspensions of beliefs for the moment although I suppose I must commend you on your ability to handle the situation thus far. Words alone cannot calm the fear and uncertainty in your heart, but I know that in time you will learn to accept certain aspects of life as well as certain people around you. _

_It will not be easy. After all, when has it ever been for you? You, however, have to persevere no matter the situation and no matter the cost – you cannot give up and you know it. But rest safe in the knowledge that you will not make this journey into the past alone. Edwin Saint is only the first of many._

_This trip into the past is no accident, save perhaps on the part of Callaghway's firstborn. Curse the fates all you like, I admit it does relieve the tension somewhat. What I have to tell you right now, is that you are an integral part of your own past, Harry. I will try to mince my words. _

_Firstly, you will no longer be known as Harry Potter. Embrace the anonymity of your identity now and henceforth call yourself Charles Hunter. Your scar holds no meaning to anyone of this time and the 'Potter' surname belongs only to three – James Potter and his parents. This is a perfectly legitimate and respectable name for the 'halfblood' that you are, although ask not how it came about for I do not know. _

_Secondly, complete your O.W.L examinations to the best of your abilities. Arrangements have been made for your attendance at Hogwarts together with Saint, assuming that you pass your OWLs, of course. Use the time wisely, because I assure you the prophecy is still at play now. Study hard and have some fun – I am of the belief that you deserve it very much indeed. _

_Thirdly, the Gringotts keys belong to both you and Saint. He will know which is his. There is enough in the Hunter and Saint vaults for each of you to make it through the following 20 years and beyond. _

_Fourthly, if you would be so kind as to hand the attached envelope to Saint. In it is valuable information for his eyes as well as his own personal set of instructions that will indubitably aid you in times to come. _

_Lastly, do not forget that you are not alone and that you will be loved and safe. You are still you despite the name you use and the place you stay. You will not lose your lion's pride, nor your snake's cunning. _You _and only you choose who you want to be. Trust me. Trust yourself. _

_I remain in sentimental drivel,  
__Charles Hunter. _

_25__th__ July 1995 _


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: I'm not (quite) dead (yet), really.  
Thanks to **kadiith** and **tsurai no shi **for beta-ing this chapter (:

Disclaimer: This is still fiction written by a fan.

A Time of Change

3. Chapter 2

'_It was a large, handsome, stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high woody hills; -- and in front, a stream of some natural importance was swelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance. Its banks were neither formal, nor falsely adorned. Elizabeth was delighted. She had never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste.'_

- Jane Austen, Pride & Prejudice, Volume III Chapter I.

_29__th__ July 1975_

The building that stood before them was magnificent; its architecture truly breathtaking. Each slab of stone must have been lovingly chosen, carefully placed and painstakingly carved to form what was the most majestic piece of artwork that Harry had laid his verdant gaze upon. Not that, of course, he had seen many of them before. But drawing a comparison to what was familiar, its size was comparable to that of Hogwarts, and while it lacked the inexplicable magical quality that he had come to expect of all things wizard-made, the backdrop of rolling hills augmented the feeling of nature and _right_ness that more than made up for it.

Beside him, his companion cleared his throat and Harry turned to meet the knowing gaze of Edwin Saint. Embarrassed, and a little flustered, the raven-haired youth willed his blush to recede as he offered the other teen a polite smile.

"It's… big," he commented lamely, wishing he did not feel like a complete and humbled ignoramus.

A mere half hour ago, they had flooed from the Leaky Cauldron to a wizarding town called Hallowed Hope. A town, Harry frowned, that he had no idea even existed. It appeared to be a place where the financially comfortable settled. Rather than the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley, there was a disconcertingly serene quality about the whole town that apparently consisted of a market square, a farming district and a residential neighbourhood. The building that Harry was gawking at was in a whole category on its own.

"This," Saint informed him, "is the best wizarding university in England, affectionately nicknamed Merlin's Study." The blonde cast his own gaze across the grounds. "_Pretty_, isn't it?"

Harry suppressed a snort, the adjective used by the other wizard hardly adequate to describe the place. Then he noticed the smirk that curled Saint's lip and realized, with no small bit of annoyance, that the blonde was mocking him.

"Git."

But Saint merely laughed, drawing amusement where Harry found offense, leading the irritated child-saviour across the campus grounds and down a winding path that connected to another driveway of sorts. It led up to a large manor, which, like all the houses in Hallowed Hope he had seen, was made of stone and would probably cost Harry more than his whole trust fund.

"Welcome," Saint grinned. "To my humble abode."

Harry blanched.

As it turned out, Edwin Saint was of old blood and old money, his great (to the power of ten) grand uncle being a Duke of some-place-Harry-had-never-heard-of-before.

"I'm his current heir, actually. So I'm in line to a pretty huge inheritance that I'm probably never going to get anyway."

Harry's confusion must have shown on his face because the blonde flashed him another of his trademark cheeky grins.

"He's a vampire."

Harry arched a brow.

"Only seen him twice, though. Weird sort of fellow, my great grand uncle."

"Right."

They were currently seated in the library, the house elves having thrown themselves in a tizzy to get rooms ready for their new masters in another part of the manor. Harry wondered who their _old _masters were and wondered yet again how Saint could be so frustratingly calm about the whole situation. But he kept his questions to himself, stewing over them in silence as the other wizard entertained himself with inane babble.

"What did your letter say?"

Saint stopped mid-sentence, mouth audibly clicking shut as he cocked his head to the side.

"What did yours?"

It was, the bespectacled boy realize belatedly, a rather personal question. Biting his lip, he turned away and sipped at the provided tea.

"Forget that I asked."

A pause. Then, a wry chuckle.

"Since you asked so nicely," Saint drawled, tone mild as he propped his chin up on a palm. "It has been demanded of me that I ensure you are given a proper wizarding education that you sorely lack. Alongside this, I am to procure a wardrobe that goes beyond your school uniform, which I have been informed is the only thing that actually fits your diminutive frame."

Affronted, but not willing to sputter like a fool in front of the infuriating man, Harry scowled fiercely and glared at the teen who was lounging in his armchair with nary a care for the world.

"You really _are _an odd mixture of dignity, pride and ignorance, aren't you?"

"What?" Harry snapped, tendrils of his temper flaring and jostling to be set free. What, in the name of all things holy, had he done to have such a menace of a teenager to be set on him?

"Don't worry, Hunter," Saint soothed, as Harry growled, the former clearly enjoying himself. "Ignorance can be rectified."

Harry drew in a deep breath and settled for glaring at the blonde, fists clenching as he reminded himself that he would probably need the other that killing him was definitely out of the question. For now.

* * *

_30__th__ July 1975_

"Turn, please," the tailor requested politely of his customer who obliged quietly, allowing him to tuck in the seams at the side of his slacks. His movements were quick and deft, professional hands working quickly and easily as he fitted the cloth to the slim form. The youth had a body of a dancer, with hardly an inch of fat around his abdomen and could have been described as overly skinny if it were not for lightly muscled shoulders and toned thighs.

Harry shot a sharp look through his defective glasses at his companion, a frown creasing a scarred forehead.

"Is this really necessary?"

"I'm only following instructions," Saint responded calmly, amusement dancing merrily in navy-hued eyes as the tailor's assistant carefully threaded pins through the fabric of the blonde's pants. "_Charles." _

The bespectacled youth's jaw snapped shut, retort swallowed as the hidden reminder was received and understood. He averted his eyes from the pureblood's gaze, willing himself not to leap off the platform and catch his companion in a chokehold.

"It'll be fine," Saint assured him needlessly, tone confident as he studied the diminutive wizard's reflection in the mirror. It was not that Harry was short. Saint was merely expecting someone more… imposing.

"I _hate _shopping."

Saint could not care less.

They entered and exited clothing stores on Alcaster's Square, the shopping district in Hallowed Hope, like bees moving from flower to flower. The bag of gold drawn from Gringotts had dwindled fairly quickly until Saint (_Kendrick _Saint_, _Harry reminded himself) was satisfied that they had each bought enough clothes to fill a wardrobe. The blonde spent money as though he were flinging garden gnomes, not allowing Harry to hesitate in his purchases and ignoring any forms of protests that the raven-haired youth had made.

His control having seemingly been effortlessly stripped from him annoyed Harry to no end, but it was soon evident that the other youth was trying to pander to his tastes, trying to get him to relax and enjoy himself for the first time in too long a while.

"Two more stops," Saint announced triumphantly as they exited yet another boutique that Harry for the life of him could not name once they were five meters away from the doors.

Avada-green eyes grew impossibly large in a picture of incredulousness, lips falling apart in an unmistakable gape. "You cannot be serious."

"Oh, but I most definitely am." Deep blue eyes gleamed.

The boy's sadism needed checking, Harry groused mentally, fingers clenching around the handle of the wand in his pocket as shoulders fell forward in a slouch. He really should not have questioned Saint about the contents of his letter.

A change in image was of utmost importance, the blonde had insisted. They could not have anyone recognizing Harry Potter as Charles Hunter, after all, and who was Harry… Charles, whatever the hell his name was going to be, to argue with such obvious logic?

By this time, Saint had taken a hold of his arm and had proceeded to tow him into yet another shop.

Charles had learnt by then that resistance would ultimately be futile.

He had enough time to stare into a mirror on the wall, his reflection gazing back at him through guarded jade eyes as they took in the unfamiliar sight of form-fitting clothes on his person, before nimble fingers snatched the spellotaped glasses right off his nose.

-- The hell?

"He needs new glasses," Saint explained to the room at large in a pleasant tone aimed to lull hapless shopkeepers into the sway of his charm. Kendrick (formerly known as Edwin) Saint's pureblood upbringing was visible to all who looked, his dressing, posture and manners having left Charles feeling inadequate until he noticed the subtle manipulations the blonde was employing.

Ushered into a cushioned chair, a very much blind Charles was once again subjected to overly-eager service as he had his degree checked while his congenial companion picked out a pair of lenses for him. A half hour later, they exited the shop with a gentle reminder to stop by in four hours to collect the glasses and contact lenses.

The dark-haired seeker fingered the bridge of his old glasses, wondering if any sentimental value he had of them would be misplaced. He glanced warily at Saint, still stubborn in his non-admittance to having the least bit of fun. "Where to now?"

"Hairdressers," the blonde fairly chirped, ruffling the shorter boy's hair as he headed the way to their next (and hopefully final) stop for the day. The sixteen year old's energy was admirable. _Really_.

It was when the words "lengthening" and "hair" came up that Charles finally put a firm foot down. There was no way, he glared at Saint, no way in _hell_ that he would want to even so much as look like Lucius Malfoy. Instead, a gothic-like hairstyle was settled upon, one long enough to cover the lightning-bolt scar better than his previous mop of hair could without impairing his line of vision.

Kendrick Saint, Charles decided, was looking far too pleased about himself.

If Harry Potter was shabbily dressed and constantly unkempt, Charles Hunter was impeccably attired and light-years away from untidy. Dressed comfortably in black slacks, new loafers and a dark crimson button-up, Kendrick had completed the ensemble with an open-front wizarding robe. Clear green eyes were no longer hampered by thick ugly lenses, framed, instead, by sturdy wire-framed glasses.

"Some may disapprove of the muggle clothes but really," Saint brushed aside his fringe with an exaggerated suave motion. "Who cares?"

Charles grunted, as they sank into their seats at a café, glad to finally be able to remove the weight off his tired feet. His earlier resolve had worn thin, Saint's flamboyantly overbearing disposition grating on his frayed nerves as they scoured the streets of London for purchases to be made. The blonde reminded him painfully of Malfoy. A _cheerful _Malfoy.

Unlike Charles' robe, Saint's was a full wizarding one that concealed a tunic and doublet, the front hem resting past his knees while the back brushed the ankles of his boots. The blue of the robe brought out the dark cerulean of his eyes. From his right ear dangled a small metal cross that Charles had not noticed before as it winked in and out of sight amidst hair that had escaped the clutches of the hair band.

"Bloody female," Charles sniped, tossing it at Saint as though it were a derogatory insult. "I cannot believe that I allowed you to drag me up and down the streets like that."

But the blonde merely smiled, glee doing a merry waltz in orbs of deep blue.

Sainthood personified.

* * *

_31__st__ July 1975_

Morning brought with it a beautiful start to the day, the warm sunlight spilling through the curtains, rousing Charles from his much needed sleep. Palms rubbed away the sleep from his eyes, fumbling with the foreign-shaped glasses that were unceremoniously shoved onto his nose as the world swam into focus.

His eyebrow twitched.

Around him was the glorious result of a complete day's worth of shopping; a mountain pile of shopping bags arranged neatly by the house elves whom he had instructed to not do away with until he had gone through it himself. Magically shrunken bags were left in a pile on his desk and not for the first time, the dark-haired teen wondered at the sheer amount of money he and Saint had spent between them.

In all, beyond splurging generously on clothes and accessories, they had procured their school supplies for their 6th year at Hogwarts alongside more books than Charles had ever read in his entire life. His new acquaintance, it seemed, was quite an avid reader while Charles' own extravagance came in the form of the market's latest Quidditch broom – The Cleansweep 7.

"We have to leave soon," Saint informed him, startling the dark-haired youth. "And your awareness of your surroundings is… lacking." The blonde was lounging in the window seat, fully dressed and ready to begin the day. It was a sight that made Charles scowl.

His dislike for the pureblood was somewhat irrational and on a level above his subconscious, he acknowledged that he was merely taking his frustrations out on a boy too cheerful to suit his mood. With a sigh, the teenager threw back the covers and stood, rolling his neck to work out the kinks in his shoulder before heading off to the shower without a word said in response.

When he exited with only a towel around his waist, Saint had already made himself scarce. Thanking Merlin for small mercies, Charles dressed in a pair of jeans and a polo shirt before summoning a house elf to guide him to the dining hall. It was not that he had a poor memory or a bad sense of direction; the house was just too goddamned huge.

Pushing open the doors and giving the house elf a short word of thanks, the ebony-haired youth could only stare in astonishment at the sight that met his myopic eyes.

"What?"

"Happy Birthday, Charles," Saint grinned from where he stood behind the head of the table. Before him was a cake with what he knew was sixteen lighted candles, and behind him, a banner proclaiming: HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU FOUR-EYED MONSTER, in so many words to the room at large.

Charles smiled, then he started to laugh as Saint, along with the manor elves, started to sing the birthday song for him. The song that he had sung for himself, alone in the Dursley's house for the past fifteen years.

"I haven't gotten you a present, though."

It was enough to send him to tears.

Instead, he grinned at the blond he had come to tolerate, made a wish and blew out the candles to the cheers of the household staff present. Then, with verdant eyes suspiciously bright, the love-starved youth caught his blue-eyed companion in a quick but fierce one-armed hug.

"Thank you, Kendrick."

The post appeared on the table as Charles was enjoying his birthday cake. There were only three for the dark-haired teen, one from the ministry, another from Hogwarts and one of unknown origin. Kendrick's pile, however, was curiously large, with various seals and letterheads adorning each envelope and note.

If Charles had been anyone else, he was fairly certain that he would have missed the look of trepidation that flashed across the blue-eyed wizard's expression before it was smothered to death by his usual mask of placidness.

"OWL results," the blonde commented, fishing out the ministry and Hogwarts letter and banishing the rest with a wave of his hand. They broke the seals of the envelopes in silence, forks placed beside their plates, the cake forgotten. Hogwarts had sent its usual acceptance letter with the list of subjects they were eligible to take for their NEWTs course. The ministry, of course, had their results.

_CHARLES HUNTER HAS ACHIEVED:  
_

_Ancient Runes E_

_Astronomy E_

_Care of Magical Creatures E_

_Charms O_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts O _

_Herbology E_

_History of Magic A_

_Potions O _

_Transfiguration E_

A dark brow arched upward as Charles raised his gaze to meet Kendrick's bent head of black-streaked gold.

"I didn't sit for half these things," he told the other youth, incredulity seeping into his voice which sounded as though it had gone up one register. "Ancient runes? I never even took the course! I thought we only sat for Charms and Potions."

Kendrick looked startled as he leaned over and grabbed the parchment, scanning through it before handing it back. He tilted his head to the side – an action that Charles had come to learn, meant the wizard was thinking.

"Well," he said slowly, frowning. "My… uncle never mentioned it but I suppose I could arrange for you to take a crash course from The Study."

"Study?"

"Merlin's Study provides summer programs for those who don't attend formal education or are on holiday from school. You might want to check out your last letter." Kendrick resumed his eating, sipping milk from the glass that had appeared by his plate, his lack of concern tugging on Charles' annoyance once more.

_The Merlin Institute of Higher Learning would like to request a confirmation from _CHARLES HUNTER _of his attendance of the following summer (August) courses:_

_Wizarding Etiquette_

_Ancient Runes_

_Duelling and Wizarding sport_

"Saint."

"Yes, Hunter?"

"I'm already down for Runes."

"Oh, good."

"Why on earth am I signed up for etiquette classes?"

"Ask your future self."

Inhaling sharply and counting from one to ten, Charles stayed his hand from reaching for the cutlery, which – oh look, had conveniently disappeared. Pity, it would have made _such_ an aesthetically pleasing picture to have a fork sticking out the side of Kendrick's head.

"And what, pray tell, would you be doing while I'm going to… prep school?"

"Working," Kendrick met his gaze squarely, amusement belying each spoken word. "Those letters that you saw earlier are from the residents from Hallowed Hope. I will have to attend to their inquiries and make calls while you're at the Study."

"You own these lands?"

"… Sort of, yes."

"Sort of?"

"My uncle," Kendrick replied, each word deliberate and carefully spoken as though speaking to a mentally deficient child. "Owned Hallowed Hope, so to speak, but now that I'm technically my uncle, I suppose it would go to say that _I_ own the lands now."

"Oh."

* * *

Merlin's Study turned out to be more than just a 'pretty' place and Harry, now called Charles, found that the moments he spent there were highly enjoyable. His nervousness at entering the program alone without even Kendrick's company soon dissipated as he participated actively in the courses he had been signed up for.

They were small classes, taught by graduate students for extra credit or some extra cash. This meant that the option of falling asleep or playing truancy was non-existent. It helped, of course, that they were interesting classes. Etiquette classes did more than simply teach him which fork to use at dinner and how to dress to suit one's title. The tutor, once realizing that he had little to no knowledge of the wizarding world, offered to be his personal guide.

They made trips to places he had not known existed. Dreamwood was a market place where bartering went on, all things magical were welcome provided that they bore no destructive intents. Charles could have sworn that he saw a vampire amidst the crowd but his tutor merely laughed and pointed out a potions shop run by one of the 'blood-sucking nymphos'. Diagon Alley was really an alley but it led out to a residential area named Gorgon Crossroads which housed a good portion of the Diagon shopkeepers and contained a beautiful park. There was a magical zoo and night safari and a huge ranch with magically bred horses in pastures that extended for miles on end.

It opened up a world of knowledge and endless possibilities for the Gryffindor youth. He had questions and his tutors had answers. Ancient Runes was not an easy class but it was definitely fascinating. He would, however, have to read up a whole ton of books before he could even attempt the NEWT course.

Kendrick watched all this with his characteristic quiet amusement, working in the library while Charles was reading or doing some assignment. He helped, when he was asked for it, although he was made happy mainly by the changes he saw in his snarky companion. Sure, Charles was still prone to bouts of temper and barbed words, but the smiles came more easily along with amicable conversation. He sank less into moments of painful recollection and was immersed more in scholarly study and physical training. It seemed like the depression had eased a little.

Finally.

It eased, at least, a little of the burden that had been shoved upon Kendrick as he struggled to make sure he was fulfilling all the duties that he should as lord of the lands. Thank goodness the Saints always had competent staff and the people were more than self-sufficient most of the time. Kendrick swore he would have died if it were not for his steward.

"Why do the Weasley's stay in isolation when they could live in a wizarding neighbourhood?"

"Because they're poor," Kendrick shrugged, grinning at the deadpanned glare Charles had graced him with. "Or perhaps it's preference, what with the many kids they have and the space they would require. Although, really, residential areas require a bit more gold because of the anti-muggle repellents and the protection charms that are put in place. Some, like Hallowed Hope, are governed by reigning lords or councils. Others answer directly to the ministry offices. They pay less tax, where they live, and they're able to use the surrounding lands as long as they remain inconspicuous to the muggles."

"I still cannot believe that there are so many blocks of wizarding land, though. Not to mention there are those who live among the muggles. I thought the wizarding population was _small_."

"Compared to the muggles, we _are_ a relatively small population. As to why we live like this, Wizards tend to like traditions more than the muggles. We prefer open air to technology, and space to efficiency. It has its pros and cons, I suppose. Of course, not having to deal with their pointless persecution is an added bonus."

"Right," Charles nodded slowly, mind rapidly moving on to the next topic without so much as a blink. "Would you like to go riding tomorrow? I _think _I've gotten the hang of it."

"You think?"

"Yeah," the youth snorted. "I think I'm better on a horse than you are on a broomstick."

"… I _really _resent that."


End file.
